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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28918041">Escaping The Corps</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gameguy1992/pseuds/Gameguy1992'>Gameguy1992</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Furry (Fandom), Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Angst, Cyberpunk, Death, Domestic Violence, Freelancers - Freeform, Futuristic, Gangsters, Inspired by Cyberpunk 2077, Other, Police, Revenge, Violence, altrnate universe, augmentions, corporate criminals, domestic abuse, escaping abuse, fennec_fox, noir, tags to be added as story progresses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 12:21:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,907</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28918041</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gameguy1992/pseuds/Gameguy1992</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In Star City there is a hierarchy. CEOs and corprate bigwigs are always on the top. In the middle are Freelancers, ScriptSlingers and NetCrawlers. and at the bottom are Employees and law abiding civilians. Tesla works as a freelancer, a faction of people who sell their talents and abilities to the highest bidder. One day a job comes to Tesla that he cant shake, even though it could have drastic consiquences for himself and anyone else involved. In a city where anyone and everyone is constantly improving and upgrading can Tesla help someone who wants out? Or is he hopelessly outgunned, outnumbered, outsmarted and out of time?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello folks, one of my New Years Resolutions was to try and work more on my own original stuff.<br/>so here is chapter 1 of a new story im working on.<br/>Hope you enjoy it.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The bar was a bit of a dump. Old, slightly dusty with dark wallpaper that clung halfheartedly to the walls where it had probably been plastered for the last 70 years or so. A few patches of paper had torn away, the result of beer or vodka or some other drink being spilt there; exposing the old durasteel wall behind it. The booth he sat in was old, the dull maroon colored vinyl fabric was laced with cracks and grooves of countless years. The table was worn, it's fake finish mostly worn away save for a few places not usually touched by customers while they ate one of four items on a menu that hadn't changed in 50 years. The Shining Light Bar, so named for a single chorded unshaded light that hung from the ceiling, the only real source of light in the bar besides an old jukebox in the corner and the dimly flickering neon of old signs.  it was advertised as a place of respite from the hustle and bustle of the city. A place where everyone knew your name and your favorite spot was always open. If he was being honest that description made him want to laugh. The bars as a shitty hole in the wall, the kind of place you went to because you were too poor or too drunk to go anywhere else, just the kind of place he needed for his job.</p><p>He'd been here for over an hour, sitting in the corner nursing a now half filled glass of beer and appearing to read a book. To anyfur else he was just another one of the patrons, a tired fennec fox who was trying to get his drink on after a long day of work. Of course to someone who wasn't 'anyfur' he'd stick out like a sore thumb. For one he wasn't dressed quite like the others. The few other patrons in the bar (mostly foxes, weasels and an old otter) were clearly used to a harder walk of life than others in the city, their clothes and jackets were old patched and worn. His wasn't pristine by any stretch of the imagination, but compared to the others it was much nicer. Then there was his drink, unlike the other patrons who drained their glasses and quickly ordered another he'd had the same glass since he sat down. He made sure to sip from it on occasion, keeping up the appearance that he was just another patron when in reality it was just another layer to his cover. Besides, one drink for pretty piss poor beer wouldn't ruin his concentration, he'd surfed much tougher networks while drinking much stronger drinks. Lastly anyfur who gave him a hard enough look would be bound to notice his eyes. The book helped to mask his true intentions, just another layer to his disguise. But if anyone actually took the time to watch him they'd notice his eyes darting back and forth, much more often and much quicker than was needed to read a simple printed book. </p><p>He paused for a moment, his eyes coming To a stop as he brought the glass of, by now, warm beer to his muzzle for a drink. He didn't mind it's musty flavor, or the fact that it wasn't cold anymore. It was all a way to keep him grounded, a way to keep himself from slipping down the rabbit hole he was already toeing. Setting the glass back down on the table he resumed his efforts, numbers and symbols appearing in front of his vision as a kind of overlay to the world around him. Truth be told this place was perfect, quite, out of the way, the kind of place everyone knew about but only a few people went to. Just the kind of place he could set up and wait. That was something most freelancers in the city did wrong. They tended to think most problems could be solved by kicking in some door, shouting or waving a gun around and when necessary an old fashioned shootout. Shootouts made for good news stories on tv but lousy business. It was too easy for some banger to pull out a plasan rifle and shoot you through a wall, or else a smart targeting gun or implant that could simply tell him where to shoot to cause a ricochet that would kill you. And if you had someone unskilled with you then things just became downright impossible or as good as, making a shootout one of the worst things a freelancer could do in an unknown situation. Not to mention the rise in concealed and personal weapon implants meant that pretty much everyone was packing something nowadays.</p><p>That didn't mean he avoided guns, the P67 submachine pistol sitting in it's shoulder holster under his jacket was proof enough of that. But his method was slower, more methodical. Instead of kicking down physical doors he preferred to kick down virtual ones first. That's why he was here, in this lousy bar at 11:45pm on a thursday night, he was working. Taking another sip of beer he narrowed his eyes slightly. Getting into the bars' Old broadband network had been laughably easy. It had barely any security on it and still used the default passwords for the decade old router and model, meaning it was simply a matter of dropping a brute force bug into the system and waiting for it to churn through the 500 or so default passwords until it found the right one. When it had the wall of numbers of symbols that had filled his vision shattered and broke away, rearranging itself into patterns that allowed him to see what was connected to the network and if it could be manipulated in any way. He'd ignored most of the devices on the network, smart TVs, smart phones, smart appliances, ect. A few personal computers from the apartment building above the bar had piqued his interest, but he's resisted the urge to break into those. He had more important things to do. He'd combed through the system, looking at each device connected to it finally finding what he'd been looking for after half an hour of searching. </p><p>In the basement of the bar someone had set up a signal repeater and connected it to the network, allowing for the signal to be extended further than was usually possible for such a simple setup. That extended network was then through a new router which had been modified to produce a random IP address every 12 hours, making it nearly untraceable. Just the kind of network an up and coming street gang might find useful if they were trying to download and burn illegal bootlegs of the latest movies, pornos and virtual trips. In some ways he was impressed, someone in the gang obviously had a bit of technical know how. Otherwise they would not have been able to set up this shadow network. At the same time, just from the kind of security routines and firewalls they were using he could tell they were amateurs at best, probably less of a street 'gang' and more of a group of friends who fancied themselves 'ruffians' and were just trying to make a little extra money. </p><p>Taking another sip of beer he decided he'd been here long enough. He'd spent the last 30 minutes combing the shadow network, finding each device connected to it; three tower computers burning disks, a fourth tower that was doing all the downloading, and a few other random devices. His eyes flickered from side to side as he began his attack. Any freelancer could simply kick the door down, shoot the wannabes and smash the computers. But that would simply leave a trail of destruction right back to the freelancer. Instead he scanned the network, pulling up every connected device before going to work. First the computers that were burning the disks and chips. For those he dropped a spike, disabling the mechanic's component limiters. Each drive was capable of spinning at 10,000 RPMs, a few hacks to the code later and the speed increased ramping up to 100,000 in the span of a few seconds; each motor frying and burning out inside the computer casings. Next came the computer that was doing the downloads, for that he overclocked the CPU while at the same time disabling the temperature monitor, causing the computer to grow hotter and hotter until it's plastic components started to melt and turn to useless slag. Lastly came the router the entire shadow network ran off of, no need to do anything fancy with it. A quick executable later and a surge of power blew out it's circuitry, overloading the model and shutting it down for good.</p><p>He followed his pathway back, returning the part of his mind that had been doing the hacking to his body. In the bar no one was any the wiser to what he'd done, just as he liked it. Smiling to himself he picked up the half full glass of beer and drained it. Dropping a few chits on the table he stood up, stuffing the book he'd been using into his bag before slinging it over his shoulder and heading towards the exit. The wolf from behind the counter smiled at him, "come again anytime." He smiled at her, nodding even though he had no intention of ever returning. No need to be rude. Exiting the bar he paused for a moment, zipping up his jacket to protect himself against the cool night air. To others it was probably only mildly chilly, but to a fennec like him it may as well have been an extra 10 degrees colder. As he began to walk his ears twitched involuntarily, piquing and flicking to pick up on the ambient noise around him. </p><p>He kept his ears at attention, the acoustic analysis implant in his head scanning through the storm of sounds; searching for any signs of danger. It was unlikely true, but not impossible for someone to figure out it had been him that had wrecked their little operation. Afterall at least one of them had had some kind of technical experience, enough to set up the shadow network and link all the computers together in the first place. Walking down the sidewalk he did his best to blend into the crowd, a feat that wasn't easy since his ears stuck up a few inches above everyone he passed by. He'd learned this over the years. As odd as it sounded, after a job was done it was a good idea to stick around for a little while. Whenever something went wrong bad guys tended to spring into action, looking for anything suspicious or out of the ordinary. A fennec fox no one had seen before trying to flee the area would certainly count as such. So he bid his time, wandering the street and scanning the crowd, occasionally stopping at a window to look at the shop inside. As he paused to examine a handmade bag his implant tweaked, automatically adjusting his hearing so as to better hear a conversation that was happening between a weasel and a rabbit across the street behind him.</p><p>"Johnny says the computers are broke."</p><p>"What happened?"</p><p>"Don't know. Could be a power surge."</p><p>"I told you we shoulda set up somewhere more stable."</p><p>He smiled to himself. So they'd found his handy work already, good. Indeed a moment or two later he watched in the glass as the weasel and rabbit took off, heading in the opposite direction he'd been headed. <em> Good a time as any. </em></p><p>Straightening up he moved, making his way through the streets towards the parking garage he'd left his car in when he'd arrived. Dropping into the driverseat he started the engine, doing his best to look as if he was just another person on their way out to buy groceries or get some smokes and not like a freelancer driving away from the latest job. The further he got from the neighborhood the better he felt. No one was following him, or trying to stop him and a quick ping hack from his car's wireless receiver told him no drones or hacks had tailed him either. He was in the clear. Smiling to himself he tapped his phone, pulling up the number of the contact who had given him the contract.</p><p>Coming to a stop at a red light he waited, his eyes flickering upwards for a moment as a SWAT heavy response craft hovering above his car making it shake under the large craft's repulsors. After several seconds though the craft drifted up and away, giving him a view of the neon laced silver and glass skyscrapers that lined either sides of the street. He'd lived in Star City most of his life, only leaving it's limits a handful of times in recent memory. The last time-</p><p>But he was pulled from whatever thoughts he might have had when his phone connected the call and a stern but kind female voice spoke to him. "This is Deputy Aloe. Who is this?"</p><p>He chuckled. "Always so business like Aloe. Someday you'll answer with a nice pleasant 'Hi. how are you,'.</p><p>She chuckled at that, a dry but genuine sound. "Don't hold your breath Tesla. Jobs done?"</p><p>He nodded, more for himself than her before responding. "Computers are slagged, network is down and the Shining Light Bar can still serve crappy booze to its guests once again. No shootouts, no explosions, no dead bodies in the streets; just as requested."</p><p>Again Aloe chuckled. "You don't disappoint Tesla, sending the bits to your account. Pleasure doing business."</p><p>As the light turned green he spoke up, sensing the call nearing its end. "I don't suppose Star City PD has any other little jobs they want dealt with? Maybe bust up some smugglers like last week? Or plant some bugs like the week before?"</p><p>There was a pause for several seconds before Aloe spoke. "Nothing right now. Might have something next week. We're getting ready to raid some places, we'll need help with sweeps afterwards."</p><p>He nodded again to himself. He'd helped in a few after raid sweeps before, they were boring, usually pretty tedious too and just involved scanning former gang hideouts and strongholds for hidden networks or routers that standard PD procedures usually missed. "Maybe. I'm not that desperate for work though." He got no response from that. After several seconds he raised an eyebrow. "Something on your mind detective?"</p><p>When Aloe spoke next her voice was hesitant and uncertain. "You know… you get shit done. Your work is always clean. You never haggle or hit us up for more bits." </p><p>He shrugged. "We both know the PD is stretched thin. Call it a public service."</p><p>"You could do more, you know. Put those talents to use inside the law rather than in the legal grey. Y-"</p><p>This time it was his turn to laugh, seeing where the conversation was going. "Lemme stop you there detective. You can save the recruitment speech, I'm not interested."</p><p>Without missing a beat Aloe spoke over him. "Why not? You could do some real good in this city, instead of skulking around in the shadows and cleaning up dregs you could bust some real criminals."</p><p>Again he chuckled, half rolling his eyes. "Do you think I don't bust criminals with what I do?"</p><p>Aloe's voice became disapproving. "Killing them is not busting them."</p><p>He shrugged at her words. "That's for lawyers to decide afterwards. Look, I appreciate your appreciation but we both know I'm of more use to you like this. Besides, if I joined the PD I'd have to disclose my identity and my past. I may not have an entire rogue gallery like some of the more famous freelancers and crawlers, but I'm sure there are more than a few people who'd like to splice open my brain and watch me suffer. It's just better this way. Sides, I have a feeling the pay is better on this side of the law." As he spoke he glanced at his phone, noting a flashing indicator that his account had received the payment and was now 500 bits richer than it had been this morning. Not by a lot, but enough to make rent this month.</p><p>Pulling into his parking space and shutting off the engine he listened to Aloe sigh. "Alright, but if you change your mind I'll personally vouch for you."</p><p>He said his goodbye, ending the call before dropping his phone into his pocket and getting out of the car. He really could appreciate the deputy's efforts, she'd been after him for a little while now. Ever since he'd helped bust a drug ring selling Chrome on the streets spiked with a virus. But in the end three main factors kept him from joining. 1, the pay was lousy. 2, if he joined the PD he'd have to play by their rules and no matter how skilled he was, there were simply some things he could do as a freelancer that they as police officers couldn't do. And lastly, number 3, if he joined the PD he'd have to register his real name along with his past. He wasn't a famous freelancer, nowhere near the skill of some of the legends that lived in the city; Spyder, Sintex, P0G, or even Gam3guy. He was known however in smaller circles, in the groups of up and coming freelancers; all of whom were looking for a way to get a leg up. If he registered that info he'd spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder, waiting for a scav or some ganger to sneak up behind to shank him, or some ganger to try and off him in the streets.</p><p>Climbing out of his car he paused, making sure he was alone in the lot before crossing it and moving inside his apartment building. Most freelancers wanted flashy places, places with polished synth-marble and fancy robotic butlers who opened the doors for you, not him. Those kinds of places were luxurious sure, but they also cost a level of privacy. If you lived there you did so partially for who you called neighbor; be they movie stars, billionaire Corporate CEOs or politicians. The Westbrook Deluxe apartments were much more his tastes. Officially the apartments offered all the modern conveniences an anthro could want; species accommodating beds and bathrooms, ample living spaces, high speed connectivity to the net and a happy and wholesome atmosphere. In reality only the last bit was true. </p><p>The species accommodating beds and bathrooms were practically a joke, he was pretty sure his unity had been built for equine or draco species; definitely one of the larger species. Although if he was being honest that just meant the bed he slept on was three times as big as he needed and his shower was the size of a walk-in closet. The 'ample living space' was also subjective at best. The apartments were more often than not on the smaller side, usually having only a bedroom, living room/dining room, a small corner that barely qualified as a kitchen, a bathroom and in his case an extra room that was probably meant as an extra large closet but that he used as an office. 'High speed connectivity' was secretly code for, 'we have one high-speed router that all 56 tenants will share'. The atmosphere was rather pleasant though, even as he walked up the front steps and pulled open one of the double doors someone called out to him, welcoming him back and asking how he was doing. He smiled, waving at the 20 something male racoon who waved back. Most of the tenants were teenagers or young adults attending the local university, or living on their own for the first time. A few of them were like him, people who dealt with the less savory side of the city and simply wished to keep a low profile. And some were older, having lived in this part of the city since it had been built in the late 120s. </p><p>This kind of a community suited him just fine. Those around him we're young and eager, each of them no doubt hoping to be the next big CEO or inventory of Web Crawler. Living here had even provided him with a few business opportunities, one reason why he always checked the building's bulletin board to see if anyone was having any kind of issues he could help resolve. The old board was a mess of the usual postings, notes asking if others wanted to come over for a party, or else advertising some lost or found item. One posting was for a moving sale, and still another asking if anyone would be willing to help the poster paint their apartment. He'd grown up in buildings like this, although the ones he'd been in had been much less friendly. Making his way to the elevator he smiled as the occupants of the vehicle began to file out, most of whom recognized and greeted him with a smile or a small "hey." He was grateful when he found that he was the only one riding the elevator up. Tapping the 11 button he sighed, leaning back against one of the elevator walls as it began to lift him to his floor. It was almost nine at night, meaning once he got home he had no intention of leaving until the next day. Mentally he picked his way through his fridge, deciding to have the leftover pasta and chicken he'd gotten from a street vendor two days ago. It was probably still good… probably. Maybe add a little hot sauce to it, it would be a decent enough dinner. Then he could relax with some TV, maybe take a hot shower and then actually get a decent nice sleep. </p><p>As the elevator came to a stop he stepped out, making his way down the familiar hallway and to the door marked by a glowing set of numbers, 27. He pressed his paw to the biopad, waiting for a moment as it scanned him before approving his entry and opening the door with a soft woosh. Stepping into his apartment, he watched as the lights flickered on automatically. He'd never been much of a decorator, preferring extreme function over astetical taste. As such, his apartment was a hodgepodge collection of furniture. A black vinyl couch that was big enough to double as a second bed, something the old tenant had left behind which he'd kept for its size and comfort. A tv stand made out of cheap synthetic wood that he'd fished out of a dumpster and sprayed liberally with disinfectant. His tv was 120 inches, not exactly something he'd brag about but the fact he'd gotten it for free; definitely. A coffee table from a thrift store and a few other odds and ends made up his living/dining room. Taking off his jacket he dropped it onto it's hook, making his way to the couch which he dropped into with a sigh. It felt good to be home, even better when he'd kicked off his shoes and holster, setting the latter down on the coffee table.</p><p>It felt good to have solved the problem without needing to pull his gun. Sinking back into the soft embrace of the couch he sighed again. Turning on the TV he groaned as the news kicked on, the familiar anchor a young and slim Boa Constrictor named James Garder was busy explaining how some kind of technical glitch in the city's Civilian Aug-Net had caused several public incidents when it had falsely reported a dozen or so civilian augments as failing around the city; causing emergency medical teams to be dispatched to the area to try and assist. He rolled his eyes at the report. The civilian Aug-Net was far from reliable, not surprising since the VI's monitoring it were decade out of date and the network itself was easily handling twice the capacity it was designed too. </p><p>Originally the system had been built as a kind of life alert for the budding augmented community. Anyone with any kind of augmentation; no matter how small or minor was implanted with a Biomonitoring chip which monitored their vitals as well as the interface between the organic and inorganic parts of their body. If something happened, causing a big enough spoke in the person's vitals then an emergency medical team was dispatched, with the system broadcasting the person's location, health and other important information having already been provided to the team. When it had first been brought on line it had been held up as a tool for good, a way for doctors to monitor their patients and keep them safe. Now though, 30+ years later the system was showing its age, with glitches and crashes being commonplace nearly everyday occurrences. Worse than that though, script slingers and web crawlers had breached the system security a few years back. Now anyone with decent enough skills or access to those with said skills could use the system to find anyone they were looking for; provided they knew the person's 17 character biosignature.</p><p>He'd disabled his connection to the network of course, more precisely he'd paid a script slingers the mask his signature. Most freelancers and grifters did so, the act actually being a small right of passage into the freelancer community. It removed a level of protection, but afforded them greater secrecy and anonymity; just another reason why their services were in such high demand. Officially they still existed in the network, their numbers still came up as active until they were reported as dead, but if anyone were to take a closer look they'd find that the biometric data never changed, always reporting as healthy with a moderate amount of physical activity but no other outlying markers; nondescript in practically every way.</p><p>He turned his attention away from the news, getting up from the couch and stretching for a second as he did so. He was tired, though it was more mental than physical; a side effect of the hacking he'd done earlier. Speaking of which, he should probably get in contact with his scriptslinger tomorrow and thank him for the viruses he'd used on this job. They'd made things much MUCH easier than they could have been. He'd never been the most skilled hacker in the world. He knew enough to breach security networks and systems. Sometimes he was even skilled enough to snag drones or other automated bots and take control of them for a time; but that was about it, and script writing had always been out of his league. Most security networks, at least higher tier security ones; used AI or VI integration. Meaning that an AI or VI monitored the system for any intrusions or unauthorized activity and once it detected something it would begin to learn and formulate ways of stopping it. Because of that the same hacks rarely worked twice so anyone looking to do some serious hacking had to have an array of hacks, cracks, viruses and deployable glitches up their sleeve, something he just didn't have the skill to make on his own. Pretty much anything more complex than modest systems and he needed a scriptslinger's help. Luckily he'd found one he liked after having been without a regular one for almost a year. </p><p>Groaning to himself he moved, stepping into the small space that passed for a kitchen and pulling open his fridge to browse the contents inside. Originally he'd planned to have the rest of the Chinese food he'd gotten last week, but now standing here the half eaten breakfast burrito he'd made yesterday seemed the better choice. Grabbing the breakfast burrito he dropped it onto a plate, tossing it in the microwave for a few seconds and watching as the obligatory 'please stand two steps back, unshielded augments may be damaged by microwaves' message played before the appliance kicked on and began to heat his food. In truth he wasn't really that hungry, but he needed to eat something or else his stomach would grumble and growl at him all night. As his food finished cooking he pulled it out, taking a bite and enjoying the pleasant albeit slightly dulled flavors; egg, chicken and potatoes, his favorite.</p><p>Soon enough the burrito was gone, giving him a nice warm feeling in his stomach as he yawned and stretched. Bed sounded like heaven right now, and so he turned off the TV with a quick command before heading to his bedroom. Stripping off his shirt he paused as he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror that hung on his wall. He was thin, maybe a tad bit thinner than other fennec foxes in the city. His fur was the standard shades of sand and creme at least along his hips and chest. His left arm was different though, not fur and flesh but instead silvery metal and black rubber in the shape of an arm. When he'd first gotten the cybernetic arm he'd resented it. All the doctors had told him it was a common emotion to feel, especially in those who had been augmented under less than ideal circumstances. At the time he'd wanted to snap the doctor's neck. 'less than ideal circumstances' that's what they called what had happened to him. In time though the feelings of resentment and anger had lessened, although they werent completely gone even now. It wasn't the cybernetic arm's fault, it had even saved his life a few times. Plus the enhanced strength and dexterity had proven useful in several situations. </p><p>Most of his body wasn't augmented. He still had his original legs, and internal organs (though his lungs were outfitted with the standard biofilters that everyone was implanted with at birth.) His eyes were still the original shade of blue they'd been when he'd been growing up, even if the calming shade of blue hid an array of augments behind it. Above his right a few flecks of metallic silver glinted through his short fur, the biocircuitry all augmented individuals needed to interface with the machines and equipment necessary to keep their augments synced and in tune with their organic brains. His ears looked normal, or at least what passed for normal amongst fennec foxes, giving very little indications or clues about the augments inside them. Reaching back he ran his paw over his 'hair'. Anyone looking at him saw three thick black colored ponytails that hung down to midway between his shoulder blades, decorated with some kind of silver tipping. If they were to look closer however they'd notice the 'braid' in the strands was an industrial pattern and that the tips were not capped with decorations but instead silvery plugs which allowed him to connect to a much wider range of machinery and equipment than others.</p><p>Kicking off his jeans he pondered for a moment removing his briefs too and enjoying a nice sleep in the nude. In the end he decided against that, instead leaving the black and red garment on as he crawled into his usual place on his three sizes too big bed. Wiggling and squirming into place he waved his paw, a sensor in the headboard of his bed recognizing the gesture and turning off the lights in the bedroom as well as any others he'd left on in the apartment, plunging him into near darkness. Finally finding the right position he sighed, allowing the weight and softness of the blankets and the warmth of the bed to wash over him.</p><p>
  
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Free time for freelancers was a rare thing. Usually they jumped from job to job, barely allowing for anytime between. When he'd first been starting out he'd been like that. Chaining several similar jobs together to try and maximize his pay and reputation gain. In some ways it had worked, he had gained a reputation of being efficient, methodical and calculating; all things that were bonuses in his line of work. In other ways though it had been a detriment. By the end of his third month he had been well and truly exhausted, his augments' sync states had begun to suffer from stress and one day he'd actually blacked out on the subway and woke up halfway towards the town. Ever since then he'd set himself a set of rules to help keep himself in check. Right now he was observing rule 12 on his list; enjoy a peaceful weekend at least once a month. When he'd woken up that morning he hadn't gotten out of bed and begun to get ready as he usually did. Instead he'd lazed a bit, done some stretching, taking a nice warm shower and even fixed himself a nice breakfast of toast, eggs and chicken. After that he spent an hour catching up on emails, browsing the latest headlines and even managed to get in a few minutes of yoga. It was around that time that he'd started to feel restless though, and rather than fight the feeling he decided to roll with it, leaving his apartment and making his way through the city to one of his favorite places.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now he gripped his weapon tightly, his senses straining against the surrounding area for the fainted sign of danger as he moved forward. He knew what he was supposed to do, somewhere in the building was a target be was supposed to find and extract and standing between him and that target were an unknown number of gu-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sound of a faint click was all the warning he got. On the far end of the hallway a weasel carrying a R37 revolver stepped into the doorway, aiming and pulling the trigger; sending several shots in his direction. Luckily he'd heard the soft click and had begun to prepare for the attack. As the weasel stepped into the doorway he'd dived to the right, into an open room as the shots sailed harmlessly past and struck the wall on the opposite end of the hallway. A heartbeat later he popped back up, throwing himself against the wall of the room he'd dived into while reaching around to aim his own gun down the hallway at the weasel. Instantly his optic implant synced with the targeting system on the gun, creating and superimposing a crude image of what the gun was pointed at. Pulling the trigger he watched as the weasel dropped, two shots striking him squarely in the chest and removing him from the situation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stayed where he was for a moment, his heart hammering in his chest as he waited to see if anyone else was going to try and impede his progress. After a full minute he slowly stood up, moving back into the hallway before continuing to move down it towards the center of the building. Stepping over the crumpled weasel he paused just long enough to kick his weapon away before moving on. He was in the center of the building now, a large empty space running from the ground floor all the way to the roof, lined by open air walkways with apartments and offices alternating on each side, a standard setup for a mixed use bui-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Again the augments in his ears saved him, detecting the sound of a round being chambered before he ever saw the shooter; giving him enough time to duck back behind the frame of the entryway before a second of wall cratered and exploded near where his head would have been. A second later his audio augments picked up more sounds, a low mumble of, "fuck!" The sound of running footsteps and the sound of a shotgun racking the next shell. Peeking out from the frame he scanned the small slice of the open space he could see. The shot that had struck the wall had come from a medium or long-range rifle; most likely a long-range with some kind of scope, or else the shot would have been quite as accurate. That meant he was looking for a sniper; a sniper who had at least two friends with him as evident by the sounds of fast approaching footsteps. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>From his cover he weighed his options. He could wait here for the sniper's friends. If they came at him single file he could probably take them both out before they got him. Then again if they came for him at the same time then he'd be fighting a wall of lead. He could also spring from his cover, keep moving and try to handle the sniper first, perhaps even use the rifle against the shotgunners. Then again he didn't exactly know where the sniper was, though the angle of the crater did give him some kind of idea that the sniper was somewhere to the le-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Flush him out. Ping him!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He cursed his luck when he heard those words. '</span>
  <em>
    <span>great, they can actually think</span>
  </em>
  <span>'. In a way he shouldn't have been surprised, but then again he was used to being up against gangers and thugs. The kinds of people who shot first, and asked questions later if ever. A split second later a display appeared in his vision, an alert that the internal wireless network he was connected to was being breached. That left him with two options. He could remain connected to the network and be spotted, whoever was running the ping would be able to see his location, his load out as well as telling them exactly what he was packing in terms of augments. Or he could disconnect and lose the ability to perform remote hacks if needed, although peer to peer hacks would still be a viable albeit much more dangerous option. The warning in his display grew, a sign that his location was getting closer to being discovered. He made the decision a second later, severing his connection to the network. Instantly the warning vanished, leaving him alone with the sound of his own breathing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He cursed under his breath as he moved back down the hall in the way he'd come. disconnecting himself from the building network wasn't a huge loss, but it did limit some of his capabilities. Then again he still had a few tricks up his sleeves, one of which took the form of a flashbang grenade which he pulled from his jacket and primed as he ducked around a corner and planted his back against the wall. For several seconds he tried to remain as silent as possible, his audio implants straining to detect the sound of footsteps coming towards him down the hallway. His heartbeat sped up as he heard them, their footsteps growing louder and louder as they drew closer. Holding his breath just a moment he moved, jobbing the device around the corner before listening to it skitter and clatter down the hallway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What in the fu-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A second later a blast of sound cut through the hallway, making his teeth rattle as it reverberated and echoed off the worn but solid walls. Swinging himself around the corner he took in the scene in almost a second. Both attackers were reeling, one of them having dropped his gun entirely, now clutching his ears. The other was still holding his weapon but only in one hand. Perfect. He lunged at both of them, heading for the half disarmed one first. He kicked the side of his shotgun, sending it flying out of his grip even as he lashed out with his cybernetic hand. The punch hit the tiger squarely in the chest, lifting him off his feet and sending him flying backwards several feet before skidding along the floor for another meter or so before coming to a stop; he did not get back up. The tiger's companion bellowed in a rage, the large brown bear clawing wildly at the air as he blinked furiously to try and clear the effects of the flashbang. Again he brought his arm up, blocking several of the blind strikes. One caught him off guard however, connecting with his shoulder and lifting him off his feet only to slam against the wall. A second later the bear lashed out again, this time with his foot; the blow connecting with his chest and sending him through the old decaying drywall and into a new room. He scrambled backwards on all fours, putting as much distance between him and the bear, even as he pounded and tore at the wall determined to follow him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His gun had been knocked from his hand when he'd been kicked, and now lay several feet away from him. He lunged for it, even as the bear succeeded in forcing him way through the wall and now was charging at him. He grabbed at the gun desperately, managing to close his fingers around the grip before an iron tight grip grabbed him by the back of the neck and again lifted him off the floor. He yelped instinctively, as he slammed into the ceiling his ears ringing as his head slammed against the surface. A moment later he found himself hurtling through the air as the bear hurled him like a bag of trash across the room, sending him crashing into the far wall and then the floor in a heap. He grunted in pain, a sharp pain lancing through his back as he struggled to get to his feet. He needn't have bothered. Again the iron like grip grabbed him by the scruff on the next, this time being joined by another one which wrapped around his neck and started to squeeze, making him choke and cough. His feet kicked wildly, but ultimately were useless; he only had one chance. Above him the bear growled, a deep nearly feral growl that made it's entire body vibrate. He acted out of desperation, bringing his weapon up until he felt the barrel connect with something before pulling the trigger twice. The shots ripped through the bear's growl, both of them muffled slightly from the extreme close range. The bear's grip around his neck vanished as it staggered backwards, its grunt becoming a pained whine as he clutched his side, trying to stem the flow of blood. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He dropped to the ground, managing to gasp down three large breaths before bringing his weapon back up and pulling the trigger a final time. The bear's head snapped back, his eyes rolling up into his head as his body went limp and he slumped to the floor dead. He kept his weapon at the ready, for a moment considering firing another shot through the bear's skull just to make sure he was really dead. His paws shook and his body ached, his vision was slightly blurred from the attempted strangulation and his lungs still burned. With one paw he dug around in his pocket, his fingers closing around the small cylindrical hypodermic which he pulled out and jabbed against his thigh. He felt the injector stab his leg, a sharp pinch flickering through him before relief washed through a moment later as the chemicals in the combat stim flooded his body. Painkillers, stimulants, and a healthy dose of extra vitamins, minerals and other essential chemicals flooded his insides, making him feel better in a matter of seconds; though not 100%. He was well enough to continue on though, staying only long enough to take a deep breath and drop the used stim before getting to his feet. His gun shook slightly as he scanned the room, his heart pounding and adrenaline coursing through his blood making him feel jumpy and twitchy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He forced himself to breath, to take a few long deep breaths to try and calm his nerves. Only once hisneyes had started darting frantically around the room did he move. The room he was in now looked to be some kind of unused storage room, with a couple empty or mostly empty metal shelves on which a few dusty metal boxes sat. On the far side of the room he could see a doorway, his way out. He moved towards it, careful to hug the sides of it as his paw tested the handle and finding it open. He twisted it, pushing the door back and open before counting to three. In his experience if someone was on the other side of the door waiting to shoot him, they'd do it within the first three seconds of the door opening. When no shots rang out he shifted, sticking his head out of the door before scanning the new hallway he was in. It was deserted, with one end leading him back around to the central space of the building while the other one reached a corner and vanished out of sight. He decided to take his chances with the central space, rather than try to navigate the maze of stairs, hallways and rooms. He moved forward, keeping his weapon at the ready incase anyone else tried to attack him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Careful he stuck his head out of the hallway; finding his position was shielded slightly by a pillar, allowing him to leave the hallway and crouch down with his back to the pillar. He knew he still had at least one other hostile to deal with, the sniper from earlier. Slowly he peered around the pillar, searching the area across from him for the sniper. If his sense of direction and placement was correct he wasn't that much further from the doorway he'd been forced to duck back into before. Indeed even as he searched his eyes found the damaged door frame, a dozen or so feet away. The sniper couldn't have gone fa-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A second later the world solved around him, seeming to shatter and fragment into thoughts of pieces of glass. "H-hey! W-wha-" He blinked, dropping an inch or so as the repulso field that had kept him suspended in the air shut off. Around him the pod he was in opened, hissing as lines appeared in its shell as it unfolded, revealing a young, familiar and amused looking male otter who shook his head at him; his friend Kal. "Bad news Tesla, you dead." As he spoke the other made a gesture across his throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He frowned, cocking his head in confusion. "Huh? How can that be? I was fine, I was behind cover and-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kal shook his head, chuckling as he did so. "Come on, I'll show you the tape."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nodding he moved, stepping out of the open pod before following the otter to a set of computers off to the side of the room. As he exited the pod it hissed, the sides moving and twisting, reforming the sphere that had held him previously. Following Kal to the computer he watched as the otter dropped down into a chair before swinging himself around and starting to type on the holographic keyboard display. A moment later the computers whirred to life, one of the monitors showing him what he'd seen moments before the simulation had ended. "See? Nothing there, I can't have been killed."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Again Kal chuckled, his fingers dancing across the keyboard display. On the screen he watched he the camera disjointed, separating from what he'd seen and turning; allowing him to see himself crouched down low peering around the pillar. "There was no one in front of you, true. But," the image on the screen shifted, rotating to the left showing the balcony way over his shoulder. "See it?" He stared at the screen, unsure of what he was looking for. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Uh… no?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kal chuckled. "Look closer." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He narrowed his eyes, leaning in a little closer to stare at the screen. On it he could see a patched and slightly decayed wall, with a few water stains covering its surface. On the far left side of the screen he could just make out the edge of a doorway leading to a hallway similar to the one he'd ambushed the tiger and bear in. "Nope, still not seeing anything."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Next to him Kal huffed slightly, his fingers dancing over the keyboard display. "You might want to check your ocular implants calibrations then." A moment later the screen darkened, the contrast changing so as to darken dark colors and enlighten lighter ones. After a few seconds Tesla frowned, he was definitely seeing something now. A kind of white streak had appeared on the screen, a result of the changing contrast. "What is that? Some kind of glitch or something?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kal shook his head. "It's a vapor trail from a high caliber round. Like the ones used in a SR32 rifle, the same kind of rifle your sniper was using."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He frowned, looking sideways at the otter who was still smirking at him. "Hang on, can you show me where the sniper was compared to me?" Kal nodded, entering in a few more commands to the computer. On the screen the image changed, becoming a top down view with green and red dots indicating where he and the sniper had been along with green and red arrows showing what way they'd been facing. His frown only deepened as he looked at the image. "That doesn't make any sense. I was behind a pillar, the shot came from my right side; how could he have made that shot if he was on the other side of the balcony way?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kal laughed gleefully, clearly enjoying knowing what had happened. "He ricocheted the round off the wall idiot." A few more keystrokes and a dotted line appeared, starting from the red dot before connecting with a nearby wall, before angeling off it for a dozen or so feet before again striking another wall and changing course again to collide with the green dot. "See?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stared at the screen for a moment before turning towards his friend. "Bullshit."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kal laughed again. "Hey don't be a sore loser cause you los-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"BULLSHIT." He said it firmer this time, straightening up and folding his arms unamusedly. "There's no way a person could make a calculation like that on the fly. A flesh brain wouldn't have the necessary reaction time and any kind of implant would burn itself out under the stress. So I'll say it again, bull-," he put a bit of extra emphasis on the last part. "SHIT."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kal rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he did so. "Not true, a military specced Dragonfly ocular implants would have about 15 seconds to make the needed calculations before their processors fried. If he could do it all in that timeframe he'd be able to make the shot and only suffer a minor migraine afterwards. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At that he raised an eyebrow, continuing to glare unimpressed at his friend. "A military specced Dragonfly implant? Isn't that the one that was found to cause seizures if they used it more than 45 minutes a day? I seriously doubt some danger in a shithole like that," he gestures to the screen. "Would have that kind of hardware. Besides the upkeep costs would be more than he makes in a month."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kal shrugged, still smirking as he did so. "He might have one if he's a former spec ops ranger. And if he's a successful drug dealer and enforcer he could afford the upkeep costs. And oh, would you look at that." As he spoke the screen changed a profile of the sniper popping up on the screen. "Would you look at that? The randomly generated simulation had him tagged as a former spec ops sniper with 15 years of military service before being discharged and making a name for himself as a hitman and enforcer for hire. In other words, Tesla you lose." As he finished speaking, Kal stuck out his tongue playfully while making a soft sound.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Raising an eyebrow he chuckled at the otter. "Yeah yeah, pretty lucky set of circumstances. Doubt it would ever happen in real life. I heard the military takes implants like those back after your tour is up."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kal shrugged, still smiling before turning back to the computer screen. "Hey the military is a big company, I'm sure things slip through all the time."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He continued to look dubiously at the otter. "Not multi-million dollar implants I bet."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kal shrugged. "You'd be surprised. Remember that time the military lost that hydrogen bomb off the coast of what used to be Idaho? Lots of things slip through the cracks. Anyways, how was it? Did you see anything you think I should work on? Maybe the neural conductor connection; you seemed to be a bit sluggish in the beginning."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Again his face crinkled into a frown. "I was not sluggish. But now that you mention it, yeah there is something. When I first stuck my head out of the doorway, why could I hear the click of the sniper's trigger a second before the shot fired. Shouldn't that be impossible?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kal's expression changed, becoming one of frustration. "Yeah. In real life it wouldn't be possible. By the time you heard the click you'd have been shot. But the simulation is set to do things in a certain sequence. Man pulls trigger, trigger activated pin, pin makes a sound, bullet fires. It's just one of those things that I can't seem to program out. That and if you backwards crouch jump up the stairs the program will yeet your ass into outer space and then hard crash."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time it was his turn to laugh, the mental image making him grin widely. "Put me back in coach, I wanna try that." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kal rolled his eyes, giving him a rude gesture before leaning back in his chair and opening his mouth to speak. But whatever the otter had been about to say was cute off by a soft electronic tone that chimed from Tesla's pocket and cellphone. Pulling out the device he glanced at the contact image, that of a stylistic and tribal P. He knew who the contact was, another freelancer he'd worked with several times before named Pixel. Thumbing the screen he watched as the contact screen dissolved a holographic display popping up a moment later showing him the young Stag who grinned up at him. "Tesla, what's up?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shrugged casually. "Not much Pixel. Just enjoying a day off. Meeting with my scriptslinger, you know how it goes."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pixel nodded, his expression becoming sheepish. "I do, although I feel bad cause I might be about to ruin your day off."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Do you need me to come pull your ass out of the fire again?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pixel chuckled before shaking his head, his antlers phasing in and out of the hologram as he did so. "No no. I learned my lesson about dealing with rogue AI, always work in teams. But I did find a job that needs doing that made me think of you, if you're interested."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He kept his eyebrow raised, his ears lifting slightly. "Oh? You found a job and didn't take it?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pixel shrugged. "Yeah yeah, maybe I'm going soft. You want the details or not?" He paused, glancing to Kal only to find the otter had turned his attention back to his computers; even going so far as to have plugged himself into his setup's neural port for privacy. A small smile twitched the side of his lips, he should have expected that. A kind of gap usually existed between freelancers and those who worked next to them, a way to keep both parties relatively safe from the other's activities. "Yo?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned his attention back to the holographic stag who was looking at him. "Yeah, give em to me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The stag nodded. "A woman made a posting on an underground subnet. Says she needs help leaving the city."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At that his interest grew. The area outside of star city was 'affectionately' called the </span>
  <span>rough lands</span>
  <span>. No true centralized authority existed there save for the leaders of a few outcast clans, and the occasional bandit warlord who was strong enough to declare a stretch of land as his own personal domain. A few small settlements and towns had managed to eke out a kind of existence along what was left of the old highway they'd built a few centuries back. </span>
  <span>It was a hard life outside the city, most people who had to leave did so via planes or air shuttles which could skip over the rough lands and simply take them to a new city. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"She say why she needs to leave the city?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pixel shrugged and shook his head. "Nope. Just that she'd be waiting at some club called Gush if anyone wanted to know more. I get the feeling this is kinda a hush hush sorta job. Managed to trace the IP of the computer that made the posting. Came from the east side of the city, diamond district. Ran into the district’s AI after that though, didn't get anything else." Again Tesla found his interest piqued. The diamond district was easily the wealthiest part of the city, home to CEO's holostars, and politicians. The 1% of the 1%. The kind of people who could afford to hire entire private armies to handle anything that bothered them, not the kind of people who made posts for help on freelancer or hacker subnets. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Know anything about the club she'll be at?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pixel shrugged. "Gush? Yeah I did a little research. It's one of those new aboveground fight clubs. The kind where you pay 100 bits to watch people best the crap out of each other in rigged fights and then party with them afterwards. Not my kind of place. Posting said to go to the bar and ask for," pixel paused, his gaze drifting down to something unseen before continuing. "Some kind of drink called a short circuit." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He raised an eyebrow. Whoever had made the posting was either being deliberately vague or Pixel was not relaying everything that had been in the message. "So why are you skipping it? Know something I don't?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pixel laughed, his antlers momentarily appearing in the holo as his head tilted back. "Nah, nothing like that. Got my hands full with a gig already. Thought I'd pass it along though, maybe get an IOU in exchange?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rolled his eyes at that. IOUs could be dangerous in this line of work, but it was often the only currency lower ranked freelancers had that allowed them to tiptoe into the big leagues. Still, they were not something to be handed out lightly. "Tell you what, you helped me out a little bit with that Valentino thing a few weeks ago, but you also screwed me pretty bad with that Maywhether gig two months ago. So instead of an IOU how about we do a hard reset?" Pixel looked at him, his expression becoming thoughtful as he weighed the offer. "You did kinda already tell me everything anyways." He added that last part in, with a tiny hint of smugness while watching as Pixel shifted a little before shrugging. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Fine, fine. Slates clean. Enjoy your mystery gig Tesla."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A moment later the line went dead.</span>
</p>
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